The Hunger Grubs
by DangerousMuteLunatic
Summary: Every sweep, a young troll from each of the twelve castes must fight in the Hunger Grubs. Karkat Vantas, representing District 12, participates in the strangest Grubs yet, due to the mysterious arrival of a 13th district full of pale, hornless creatures
1. Chapter 1

The Hunger Grubs

CHAPTER ONE

"Fuck off, Crabdad!" I snap as my lusus tries to unsnarl my hair. He clacks angrily and yanks harder with the stiff-bristled brush. I hate how my hair sticks up funny around my horns, especially when the rest of it is plastered to my scalp. I shove Crabdad away with one hand and spike my hair back up with the other.

I grimace into the small, streaked mirror in front of me. I'm a dumb gray suit with a red tie that I had to do myself because claws aren't really made for tying knots. The pants are too tight and too high. I feel like a sausage roll, all squeezed into a wrap.

I look like a fucking tool.

I don't get why we have to "look nice" for the Reaping. I guess it makes it a celebration of whatever poor sap has to go and get slaughtered for the entertainment of the Empire. Like an early funeral. A big, happy, fucking corpse party.

Great, now I'm making no sense, and to top it off, I'm gonna be late.

Well, this just isn't my day, is it?

"Shit, Crabdad, we're late!" I pelt out the door and sprint to the Square, where the trolls between the ages of six and nine sweeps are already being herded towards the front.

Every year, the Empire mixes up twelve slips of paper in a glass ball. Six say "boy" and six say "girl". They are all drawn out, one at a time, for each district. This sweep, our district, District 12, drew "boy." Which means this time, I'm eligible.

At first, I was pretty happy that our district has guys this year. That means I can sign up for tesserae and maybe get _something_ to eat for myself and my lusus. Now I'm starting to regret getting so many tesserae, seeing the slips of paper in the ball. 36 of them have the name "Karkat Vantas" in neat, grey writing.

There sure don't seem to be enough slips in there. Am I the only one who got a shitload of tesserae? No, everyone in the district is piss-poor. They're all just as desperate as I am to get the pitiful amounts of grain and oil that come for adding your name another time into the drawing. I'm sure it'll be someone else.

All the boys my age are rocking back and forth nervously. Last sweep, District 12 sent a girl to the Grubs. She was a neighbor of mine. I remember when she was called up; she put on a brave face for the cameras. She seemed like she really had a chance, too. She was strong, quick, clever. She got a few sponsors early on.

She got stabbed through the heart in the first twenty minutes in the arena.

Just goes to show, I guess, that highbloods have all the luck. All of it.

Now an adult seadweller from the Capitol of the Empire is mounting the stage. These nookstains make me sick. Just… everything. Their hair, their clothes, their dumb gills and weird accents. I don't think I'll ever understand why the Empress decided that only adults could live in the city and us kids have to live in shitty districts and make stuff for them.

Well, lower class trolls, anyway. Young seadwellers have nearly as many rights as adults do. The higher districts are fairly well off. That's why they always win the Grubs.

Oh, I guess the Capitol drone of a troll is reading the "history" of Alternia. More like propaganda. How long ago, there were a lot of wars and the only way to bring "peace" was for the Empress to force all of the adults off-planet, and how anyone who came against her decision would be culled. Harsh. But I know the story by heart, if not by choice, then because they made us learn it in school.

"And now I shall draw the name of the Tribute from District 12!" The woman calls out gaily. She seems on the verge of tears of joy.

Fan-fucking-tastic. That's why we're here, dumbass. Dressed up like fucking dolls, eager to come play your sick-ass game.

She reaches a manicured, slimy hand into the ball of slips and pulls one out. A few stray scraps of paper catch on her jewelry and she shakes them off onto the stage. She unfolds the slip and reads out the name.

"Karkat Vantas!" She's beaming and I'm so shocked and maybe I didn't hear her right? Yeah that's it there's no way I'm-

Fuck.

I'm a tribute in the Hunger Grubs, and I am most definitely going to die.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

I'm herded up onto the stage, too stunned to resist. Something in the back of my think pan tells me to run, to somehow jump the fence, to flee into the woods where I can be safe. But there's nothing I can do because I can't move my legs and it's probably because my pants are too tight. Who am I kidding, I'm just scared as fuck. There's no way I can do this.

I'm on the stage and the bitch is shaking my hand like I've just won a prize and all I can do is stare out at the sea of trolls that might as well be strangers. The front rows are filled with my peers, all wiping away a few drops of light red sweat. (NOT pink. Pink is for nookstains.) They can't believe their luck, not only are they safe but that obnoxious Vantas kid got picked! Hooray! Hooray to you too, fuckasses. I hope the coal mine fucking collapses on you.

In the back are the lusii. I can't pick out Crabdad in the crowd of various white creatures, but I'm sure he's clacking his claws off with worry. Probably.

The seadweller hasn't released my hand. I guess I should try to remember her name. Nope, can't. Oh well, I'll learn it. She's leading me to the Justice Building. I know from past Grubs that I'll get a chance to say goodbye to people I'm close to. Which pretty much consists of Crabdad. And…

Yeah, that's about it.

I sit in the overly plushy velvet room I'm shoved into. All the (surely expensive as hell) fabric on the walls and benches are bright candy red.

How fucking thoughtful. They seem to have matched the furniture to the blood of the tributes. Well, isn't that just hunky-dory.

Memo to future me: NEVER say the words "hunky-dory" aloud. God, I'm a dumbass sometimes.

Crabdad comes in and sits across from me. He clacks sadly, and then falls quiet.

"Hey… don't break anything while I'm gone." I say, to break the miserable silence.

He just stares at me. I feel like I've disappointed him somehow. Like it's my fault that I got picked to be sent to the slaughterhouse.

_Well, too fucking bad._ I think, _you didn't seem to mind the tesserae when it got you free grain._ But I know that he's sad to see me go, because when I get back, it will surely be in a long, wooden box.

Crabdad puts a tentative claw on my shoulder. It's the closest he'll ever come to a hug, and I'm glad for it. There's probably tears streaming down my cheeks, but I don't care.

The door opens and Crabdad leaves with one last look over his shoulder. To my surprise, it opens again and allows a girl to come in and sit across from me. I blink in surprise.

She smiles.

Oh, I think I remember her now. She's about nine sweeps old. Her moirail was the tribute last year.

The girl reaches a hand in her pocket and pulls something out.

"The hell…?" I don't understand. I don't even know her! And yet here she is, saying goodbye, sort of.

She drops the object into my palm. It's a silver symbol on a chain. I look at it closer.

It's the irons used to punish rebels against the Empire.

"You get to take one token into the ring with you. I thought you might like this one." Her eyes, just starting to turn red with age, soften. I know it will only be a sweep or two more before she is carted off to the Capitol as an adult. "It-it was my moirail's." She stood up to leave. "This is stupid. Forget it, I'll just-"

I grab her hand and stand as well. "Thank you. I'll take it with me."

She gives me a sad smile. "Don't forget us. Tell the Empire we said 'fuck you.'"

Ah, I love that District 12 attitude. I'm gonna miss it.

The door opens again. "Time's up."

"See you, Karkat. Don't die on us. Come home a winner." She bounds out of the room without a backwards glance.

With a shrug, I loop the chain around my neck, hoping a necklace for a token isn't too girly.

There are not more visitors for me. I guess I should have figured. I haven't exactly been a model citizen in the Seam, but it still kinda hurts that nobody here cares enough to give me a send-off.

Fuck them, anyway.


End file.
